


The One With All The Kissing

by to_boldly_throw_hands (so_it_shines)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Comedy, Crack, Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17163347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_it_shines/pseuds/to_boldly_throw_hands
Summary: After retaking DS9 from the Dominion, Benjamin Sisko throws a dinner party for the senior staff and some of the crew of the Defiant. This would delight Julian except for one small issue: he and Garak have been conducting a secret relationship since before they abandoned the station, and they haven't figured out how, if, or when they want to tell everyone. So when Julian absentmindedly kisses Garak goodnight, he has to quickly salvage the situation - by kissing all the other nearby officers. Oh my!





	1. The One With Julian's Stressed Out Internal Monologue

**Author's Note:**

> My recent DS9 obsession percolated in my brain with my favourite scene from Friends (a horrifying idea, I know) so here's a fic loosely inspired by The One With All The Kissing.
> 
> I'm posting the first section because I'm impatient and I need a bit of motivation to keep it going. I have it mostly plotted and a good chunk of it is already written, so I'll either dump all the rest at once, or I'll drop it in chapters.

Julian shifted in his chair, unable to quite find a position which felt comfortable. Or natural for that matter. He felt as if he must be under scrutiny by the rest of the senior staff; their rapturous attention towards their home-cooked meal merely a ruse to disguise their true preoccupation with every tiny little movement of Julian’s.  
  
_Don’t be silly, Julian. They really are focused on the meal – none of us have had a meal like this for a long time._  
  
But why then couldn’t he shake the feeling that all eyes were on him?  
  
He knew why. Garak was here. Garak was here and sitting having Sisko’s special jambalaya with the rest of the senior staff (plus Jake and Nog). Garak was here, sat to Julian’s left, eating jambalaya and having a spirited conversation with Dax about the merits of Klingon opera - something Julian didn’t even know that Garak had an opinion on. Julian fancied himself something of a burgeoning expert on the things Garak had opinion on, and this was new to him. But of course Garak had always been full of surprises! That was part of the appeal! But sitting here with Garak to his left _eating jambalaya with the senior staff_ … well it certainly felt like a dangerous trait for Garak to have. Unpredictability. He wouldn’t intentionally give the game away, of course, but a sly comment here, a slip of the tongue there… Dax was clever, she would absolutely be able to extrapolate the truth from a slip of the tongue! Even the best spies and tailors were not immune to a _slip of the tongue_ …  
  
Julian shifted in his chair again.  
  
‘Doctor,’ Sisko interrupted his spiralling internal monologue in a mild tone of voice. But was it mild or knowing? ‘You’ve barely touched your meal. Is there something wrong with it?’  
  
Ah. The meal. The delicious homecooked jambalaya that Sisko had slaved over as a way to welcome the crew of the Defiant back to the station after it had been retaken by the Federation. Jambalaya made from replicated protein, expertly seasoned; fresh vegetables from the Bajoran grocer on the promenade who had returned to the station as soon as he was able; and cooked with Sisko’s particular brand of passion and fervour that had little to no impact on the actual taste, but made everything all the sweeter because of the knowledge that he cared so much about the group of people assembled around his table. A group of people which apparently now included _Garak_.  
  
_Focus Julian_.  
  
‘Oh no, not at all, Captain!’ Julian said with all the gusto he could muster. ‘It’s incredible, I would never have guessed the seafood was replicated, you’ve done such a good job.’ He scooped up his cutlery and started to shovel the food into his mouth in earnest. It really was incredible how the Captain had managed to transform replicated protein into something almost entirely indistinguishable from the real deal.  
  
‘I’m glad you think so, Doctor,’ Sisko looked somewhat dubious, but no one was ever quite as harsh a critic of his cooking as he was, ‘perhaps it lacks some of the depth of flavour that fresh seafood brings to a dish, but I did the best I could under the circumstances.’  
  
‘Well, I for one am _ecstatic_ that you made the effort,’ Jadzia proclaimed, barely swallowing her mouthful before speaking.  
  
‘Here, here,’ rumbled Worf, with whom Jadzia was playing a rather violent form of footsie.  
  
‘Best home cooked meal I’ve had in a long time,’ the Chief chimed in, ‘Keiko hasn’t cooked since we’ve been back, which is understandable what with the kids and settling back in and all. But hey, who needs a wife when you’ve got a captain that makes food this good!’  
  
Julian tried not to snort at Miles as his eyes bugged in realisation of what he’d said.  
  
‘Not, of course, that you’re like a replacement for my wife captain! Eh, you know what I’m trying to say,’ the Chief waved his fork as though he were swatting away the awkwardness like a fly.  
  
‘I appreciate the sentiment, Chief,’ Sisko smiled, ‘although I hope you don’t expect me to replace Keiko in any other way.’  
  
Kira, sitting at the Captain’s right hand side, snorted loudly, which set Dax tittering. Nog, who had been sitting uncomfortably upright throughout the entire meal, looked as though he might explode in his attempt to keep the laughter in. He snuck a sideways glance at Jake who was cracking up, and his composure broke.  
  
Julian continued shovelling his jambalaya into his mouth in an attempt to distract his brain from the Garak situation. Really the past six months or so had been one giant Garak situation, so you would think that Julian would be used to it by now…  
  
The Garak situation shifted in his chair, brushing his arm against Julian’s, which sent a shiver through his entire body. No wonder he couldn’t relax. His body was a tuning fork and Garak was the note to which it resonated.  
  
Garak placed his cutlery neatly on the table and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. Every move he made looked choreographed, and Julian honestly believed that it _was_. Everything Garak did was with the grace of a ballerina and an unwavering concentration that Julian found mesmerising - no one could ever argue that Julian didn’t have a type.  
  
He’d been staring too long, surely someone had noticed. He glanced around the table, but no one was looking their way.  
  
‘Well, Captain, that was truly a delightful meal. I now see why Doctor Bashir always enjoyed your soirees so much.’ Garak inclined his head to the Captain with a little smile on his face.  
  
_It’s perfectly normal for Garak to speak so knowledgeably about you, Julian! Everyone know you’re friends, after all. And if Odo is looking at you a little too curiously, it’s only because you’re gripping your fork very_ very _tightly_.  
  
‘Thank you, Mr Garak. You have been a most pleasant dinner guest.’ Sisko inclined his head in kind and Julian felt as though he were able to let out a long-held breath.  
  
_Get it together, Julian, it’s not like you’re introducing your lover to your parents!_  
  
No, he was merely sitting next to his secret lover at a dinner with all his closest friends who he wanted to like Garak _so much_.  
  
A completely different scenario.


	2. The One With The Convenient Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did these two losers get together in the first place? Misunderstandings, misplaced jealousy, and kanar. 
> 
> Part one of flashbacks because apparently it's going to take this fic forever to get to the scene we all want to see. Alas I am a slave to the narrative flow...

_Six months previously:_

_Quark’s Bar_

***

‘No, Chief, I’m talking about a completely different person. I am absolutely not still hung up on Leeta.’ Julian was so affronted by the very _suggestion_ of this that he had deigned to lift his head up from where it had been buried forevermore in his arms on the table. It had been a very suitable position from which to lament the heart-breaking situation he had stumbled upon earlier that evening and he was irked, _irked_ , that Miles had forced him to abandon it in righteous indignation.  

‘You can’t fool me, Julian,’ Miles said in his faux-stern Julian-is-being-a-nincompoop voice. ‘I find you here, half gone on Quark’s dodgy Kanar, ranting and raving about how the love of your life loves another, and you expect me to believe you’re referring to someone other than your last serious girlfriend who, might I add, just got engaged! You must admit that the timing is very suspect.’

Julian rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could without making himself spacesick. The only thing he was still hung up on about Leeta was the fact that she still hadn’t returned Kukalaka!

‘I assure you, Chief, I am not still hung up on that thief- hey… that rhymes! Perhaps I should have been a poet rather than a doctor. Tell me truthfully, Chief, should I pursue a new profession?’

‘What you should do, Julian, is put down the Kanar,’ Miles plucked the glass out of Julian’s hand. ‘Thief, eh? Stole your heart did she?’ he chuckled to himself.

‘Hey!’ Julian made to grab his glass back, but the sudden movement made the room shift like a poorly rendered holoprogram.

‘Whoa.’ Julian sat down abruptly. ‘Computer end program,’ he commanded, but the room continued spinning, and his words seemed to trip over themselves as though their shoelaces were all tied together. Could words have shoelaces? What kind of shoes would the word “computer” wear? Perhaps he should be a philosopher! No, dammit, he’s going to be a poet! Not a philosopher… Or maybe he should become an artist… a half Bajoran, half Cardassian artist… _clearly_ that would be the only way to win the affections of the man he loved…

He plopped his head back into his arm nest. He would never know love again! Never feel a fire that burned so fiercely! Perhaps he should be writing this down…

‘Do you have a padd? I have been overcome by the muse and I must let it lead me where it will-‘ he attempted to gesticulate to emphasise his point, but without the support of his elbows, he suddenly realised his head was unable to support itself. He twisted to avoid clocking his forehead against the edge of the table and managed to tumble out of his chair altogether.

‘Alright, Julian, let’s get you back to your quarters,’ Miles hefted him up by his underarms and slung Julian’s arm around his shoulders.

Julian supposed he could allow Miles to help him back to his quarters. He could walk by himself, he really could! He just didn’t feel like it. He didn’t really feel like anything at all right now. Not after he’d seen Garak with _her_. Ziyal. Julian didn’t really hate her. He didn’t really know her! But he _wanted_ to hate her. Isn’t one supposed to hate the Other Woman?

Except, Julian had to remind himself, he and Garak had never really been a thing and as such Julian had no true claim over Garak’s affections. Sure they had _flirted_ for _five years_ , and had lunch together practically every single week for all of that time. But what did they have to show for it? A solid friendship that Julian cherished? _Bah._ How awful.

‘Chief,’ Julian slurred (he _could_ speak properly if he wanted to, he just didn’t want to) as Miles dragged him down a link corridor.

‘Yeah, Julian?’ Miles replied, in a low, patient voice.

‘It’s not my fault I want more than a friendship. _Really lovely_ friendship, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not my fault it’s not enough! The heart wants what the heart wants…’ The words seemed inadequate to express his conflict, and he trailed off a little at the end.

‘No, it’s not, Julian, it’s not your fault what you feel. But it is your fault if you do anything about it, so promise me you won’t say anything to Leeta. You’ll get over it soon enough, and she and Rom are really happy.’ Miles was trying to sound admonishing, but Julian could sense the undertone of tenderness and concern in his voice. Julian appreciated the way Miles was trying to look out for him even if he _did_ have no clue what he was on about.

‘I promise I won’t say anything to Leeta,’ Julian laughed bitterly.

‘Or Rom,’ Miles warned, picking up on the fact that Julian was being intentionally facetious in his wording and not wanting to be caught out by a technicality.

‘Or Rom,’ Julian sighed.

‘Good. You’ll find someone, Julian, someone who’s on the same wavelength. And then everything will click, I promise.’

‘If only it were that simple.’ He buried his face in Miles’ shoulder.

‘When it’s the right person, it will be. The universe has a way of clearing a path for you – in my case it was a garden path, heh.’

‘Excellent imagery. Maybe you should be a poet as well, Chief! We can be poets together.’

Miles ignored Julian’s rather excellent plan for their future. He opened the door to Julian’s quarters and hoisted him over the threshold, depositing him onto his bed, and tugging the duvet over him.

Julian watched as the Chief replicated a glass of water and some painkillers, setting them gently on the bedside table. Sometimes it hit Julian just how much he adored the Chief. He watched him trudge over to the door.

‘Oh, if only you weren’t a married man,’ Julian slurred at the retreating figure.

‘Goodnight Julian, sleep tight,’ Miles said with a soft laugh and a shake of his head. ‘Computer, lights.’

‘Goodnight, Chief, love you,’ Julian mumbled into his pillow.  

The door swished shut behind Miles, leaving Julian alone with his thoughts. How _ghastly._

As well-meaning as the chief was, Julian would much rather have finished his inebriation by passing out at the table in Quark’s. Maybe that would have silenced the jealous little nagging voice in his head telling him that he missed his chance. That Garak was the one for him, and he had let him fall into the arms of Ziyal.

God, he really had just sat to the side and done nothing. _Years_ of attraction to Garak, and Julian had done _nothing._ How pathetic! How could he just sit back and let the _love of his life_ (perhaps a slight exaggeration, but his drunk mind was feeling effusive) go.

He had to be able to say he’d done everything he could.

‘Computer, lights!’ he announced. He had never felt more clarity on the subject! He had to tell Garak how he felt, and tell him that he would much rather he didn’t kiss Ziyal, please and thank you!

If only he’d thought to nick a bottle of Kanar from Quark’s, just for a little extra liquid courage, and for something to offer when he showed up unannounced at Garak’s door. There was still a tiny sober voice in his head telling him that he should leave Garak to be happy with Ziyal, and he wanted to kill it dead. Ah well, hindsight is 20/20 and all that pithy nonsense.

He contemplated synthahol, but decided that the negligible effect it would not be enough to justify the delay in his mission its consumption would cause.

To Garak’s quarters, post-haste!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos, it really means the world to me that people are actually invested in this silly little story. I can't promise any sort of update schedule because I should really be writing my undergrad dissertation instead, but I'll work on this whenever I want to procrastinate but still feel productive!


	3. The One With UST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian stumbles his way to Garak's quarters. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Without the Chief, Julian's progress through the empty hallways was lurching and slow, but he was determined, and once he put his mind to something he always saw it through to the end.

When he arrived at the door to Garak’s quarters, Julian collapsed with relief. Now that he had made the floor’s acquaintance, he was loathe to part with it, so instead of ringing the buzzer, he thumped on the door.

‘Garak, open up! It’s me!’

There was no immediate response. Perhaps Garak hadn’t recognised his voice? There were, after all, an abundance of people who went by “me” aboard the station.

‘It’s me, Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of the Starbase Deep Space Nine.’ Was that enough detail? ‘We have lunch together, often.’

Still nothing. Perhaps Ziyal was in there with him? He could picture it now! There must be candles lit on every surface in the bedroom and romantic Cardassian string music playing. Garak must be leaning in towards Ziyal, his hand cupped around her jaw, tilting it upwards for a kiss…

 ‘It’s a medical emergency, open up!’ Desperate times… ‘Security Override, Bash-’

The door slid open, and Julian fell sideways over the threshold.

There were a pair of slippers in front of his face. They appeared to be occupied. He looked slowly upwards, past a very fetching dressing gown, towards their occupant’s face.

‘Oh, hi Garak! Fancy seeing you here!’ he said, doing his best impersonation of a sober and professional doctor. He was pretty sure he’d nailed it.

Garak rubbed his eyes.

‘My dear Doctor, as delighted as I always am by your company, I fail to see what kind of medical emergency there could possibly be at this hour. Might you consider parting company with the floor and joining me for a pot of Tarkalian tea?’

‘The medical emergency has been sorted, I handled it because I am a competent and professional doctor. If I wanted to I would lift myself up from this floor, but you see I am conducting official Starfleet business down here so I can’t.’ Julian was pretty good at this lying on the spot thing, he thought.

‘Ah, I see. Perhaps you would be willing to take a break from your important Starfleet business, and allow me to assist you in standing up – purely due to my deference towards you as Chief Medical Officer, you understand.’

Oh, he’d fallen for it! Hook, line, and sinker! Julian really was _very_ good.

‘That would be acceptable, Mr Garak, thank you,’ he demurred, allowing Garak to scoop him up like a damsel in distress.

He wrapped his arms around Garak’s neck with relish. The embrace was cut short by Garak setting him down on a sofa. He pulled a throw over Julian, and retrieved a chair so that he could sit facing him.

Julian reached out to grasp Garak’s hand – he wasn’t ready to relinquish physical contact just yet. Garak seemed surprised, but he held Julian’s hand delicately, and Julian thought that he noticed a tiny, baffled smile light up Garak’s face.

But then he remembered why he was here.

‘Where is she?’ he asked with a frown, twisting around to survey the room and clutching Garak’s hand tighter as if he might be plucked away any minute.

‘Where is who, Doctor?’ Garak asked, gently, confused.

‘ _Her,_ Garak,’ Julian leaned towards Garak, eyes wide. Surely he knew who Julian was referring to? Perhaps he was just treating him like he was stupid, but Julian was _not_ stupid. In fact, Julian was _very not_ stupid.

‘I’m afraid I really don’t know who you’re referring to. I’m not in the habit of having women in my quarters very late at night.’

‘Not even Ziyal?’ Julian said, perhaps a little more viciously than he had intended. Garak seemed to start a little at her name, and Julian knew he had him!

 ‘Oh ho! I know about the pair of you. I saw you!’ he crowed.

‘Ah.’ Garak sat back, letting Julian’s hand drop, the bastard. ‘Doctor, I presume that the incident you witnessed took place at approximately fourteen hundred hours in my shop?’

‘Yes.’ Julian felt a little deflated. He always enjoyed catching Garak out, but in this case he had hoped he was wrong. Until now it might have been changelings! Or a hallucination! Or perhaps Garak’s shop had been temporarily turned into a holosuite! Any number of very plausible and not at all ridiculous scenarios.

‘I assure you that it was not what it seemed.’ Garak seemed to be picking through his words very carefully.

‘So you and Ziyal didn’t kiss then?’ Julian demanded, scoffing a little at the thought that Garak was trying to play him for a fool.

‘In the strictest sense, yes, we did. However-‘ Garak seemed to hesitate for a moment and then- ‘she took me by surprise. I quickly disavowed her of her romantic notions, I assure you.’

‘Oh.’ _Oh._ Well then. Julian’s brain short circuited for a few, very long, seconds.

‘So there is nothing going on between you and Ziyal?’

‘No, doctor, there isn’t.’

‘Nothing at all? You don’t have romantic feelings for her?’

‘I do not have romantic feelings for Ziyal. And frankly, doctor, I do somewhat resent the implication that I might! A man of my age having romantic feelings for a young girl of Ziyal’s… It makes one shudder, don’t you think?’

‘Well, that’s one of the reasons I was so distressed by what I saw!’

‘One of the reasons?’ Garak asked with the lightness of and delicacy of finely woven silk. ‘What other reasons could there possibly be?’

By now Julian had pulled himself up into what he hoped was a more dignified sitting position. The room had decided to shift somewhat in the process, throwing off Julian’s equilibrium. How apt a metaphor! Were he to write a memoir including this scene, he would absolutely include this marvellous symbolism that the universe had seen fit to afford him!

_Focus, Julian!_

‘Why do you think, Garak?’ he purred. Or perhaps slurred. They sounded very similar, Julian reasoned.

‘I’m sure I don’t know, my dear. And I’m sure when you sober up you might regret any… _indiscretion_ that might arise from your telling me.’ Garak seemed to be trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to know. He stood up slowly, hesitated, then grazed Julian’s knee with his fingertips so lightly that Julian almost didn’t feel it. He shivered nonetheless.

‘As you are in no fit state to return to your own quarters tonight and I do not relish the task of escorting you there at this late hour, bedecked as I am in my bedclothes, I shall replicate a spare blanket and you may remain on my couch until morning.’

Julian watched him walk towards the replicator, appearing to grow smaller and smaller along with Julian’s window to confess his feelings.

Julian leapt, well, tumbled into action. His limbs were taking their sweet time to process the instructions from his brain, but he got to his feet with only minimal crashing and banging. He made his teetering way across the room and clung onto Garak for dear life once he reached him.

‘Now doctor, you really should lie down,’ Garak murmured, suddenly very close to Julian’s face.

‘But you left me there,’ Julian murmured back, ‘I missed you.’

‘Missed me? I never left your line of sight.’

‘But I couldn’t touch you.’

‘I see.’ Garak seemed hesitant; hopeful but uncertain. Julian wanted nothing more than to wipe away the doubt in those eyes. He might not be sober, but he’d never felt more clear-headed. He knew _exactly_ what he wanted. It was the only thing he could ever imagine wanting. This moment was his own localised temporal anomaly where nothing that came before or after mattered. He felt he could live in it forever.

‘Garak,’ he said, savouring each syllable from the open vowels through to the plosive at the end. What a beautifully round, self-contained sound. So sure of itself, but still so guarded.

Garak seemed as though he wanted to say something, but Julian put a hand on his mouth to hush him. He swayed, and Garak caught him by the waist.

Julian brushed his hand over Garak’s cheek, reading his skin like braille, thumb brushing lips that were surprisingly soft. Garak’s breath hitched.

‘Elim-’ Julian breathed, barely vocalising. _Elim._ His lips parted naturally after the last consonant, as if in anticipation of something to come.

‘Doctor-‘ Garak started, his tone of voice developing an edge that Julian wanted to sand away.

‘Julian.’

‘Julian.’ Garak conceded, leaning almost imperceptibly into Julian’s touch.

Julian lowered his forehead until it was touching Garak’s. Gently at first, but then they both seemed unable to resist pressing closer, drawn by an urge to suffocate any distance that deigned to separate them. Their lips were so close now that Julian could feel his own ragged breathing on his fingers.

‘Julian, you’re drunk.’

‘So? It doesn’t make a difference.’

‘I’m afraid it does,’ Garak turned his face so that it rested more snugly in Julian’s palm. ‘I implore you not to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.’

‘I wouldn’t –‘

‘And don’t _say_ anything you might regret, either. For both of our sakes,’ there was a pregnant pause, then, ‘my heart couldn’t take it.’ If Julian hadn’t been so close he might not have heard this last part. If Garak’s face hadn’t been buried from view he might not have said it.

‘Oh Elim,’ Julian whispered, ‘then I’ll tell you in the morning.’

Garak took Julian’s wrist, his grip so gentle it _hurt,_ and Julian allowed him to guide it away from where it rested. Julian’s hip felt cold where Garak had relinquished his touch.

‘I’m sure you have every intention to do so right now. But I won’t hold you to it. Get some sleep, doctor.’ And just like that Garak’s defences were raised. He left the room.

Julian suddenly felt dog tired. He heaved his ungainly corporeal form across the room, hitting his shins on half the furniture as he went, then tumbled onto the couch.

His dreams were full of rooms he couldn’t enter, rough stone walls, and through it all there blew a cautious breeze that murmured his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates at once? Oh my!
> 
> If you've read any of this story know that I love and appreciate you and I would give you the world had I not 15,000 words of important uni work to prioritise. 
> 
> Any commentary you have on what works and what doesn't is always welcome. I study creative writing so I can take criticism like a champ!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what works and what doesn't! I haven't written either fic or comedy in a long time so I'm a bit rusty, and any constructive feedback is invaluable!


End file.
